


This Monstrous Need

by birdsofshore



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark, Extremely Dubious Consent, Hate Sex, M/M, Potions Accident
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 18:32:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1909362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdsofshore/pseuds/birdsofshore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The potions cupboard is really much too small for two people, let alone two people who can't stand each other.  But with this urgent, unmistakable need in my stomach, pulling me forwards, Potter's warm body suddenly looks like the finest thing I've ever seen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Monstrous Need

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Это чудовищное желание](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6647872) by [ns17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ns17/pseuds/ns17)



The potions cupboard is really much too small for two people, let alone two people who can't stand each other.

I wrinkle my nose. “Potter, you've put Billywig stings next to the porcupine quills. Do you not understand the concept of ordering things so people can find them, or is it the whole alphabet that's proving too much of a challenge for you?”

He glares as always, turning to face me with his forehead creasing around his stupid scar. “Shut up, Malfoy, or I'll have to punch you in the face again, and we both know that's how we got into this mess in the first place.”

I sigh, drawing it out, putting all my frustration into it. Two hours doing tasks for Slughorn, as a detention for fighting in class. So bloody unfair; I didn't even get a decent go at Potter, though my cheek still aches from his blow. Slughorn said we should be ashamed of ourselves, that we should be capable of behaving like adults now, rather than first years. Merlin, but this idiot I'm stuck in here with brings out the child in me.

I reach past him, jostling him just a little more than I need to, grabbing a vial of oily, mustard-yellow liquid. The label has got wet at some point and I turn it in my fingers, trying to make out the crabbed script. “Yeah, you probably engineered the whole thing to get to be alone with me, Potter. I've seen you staring at me and following me about. Pathetic.”

His eyes narrow – he really is so temptingly easy to wind up – and his arm jerks, utterly on purpose, I'm sure, his shoulder bashing my arm with a painful jolt. My fingers fly open and it takes about three seconds for the contents of the vial to lie spreading around my feet in a spray of broken glass.

His face is infuriatingly smug as he laughs at the mess on the floor. There are unpleasant-looking vapours rising from the spillage, sickly and strange. We both speak at once.

“Bad luck, Malfoy, Slughorn won't be very happy about that...”

“For fuck's sake, Potter, look what you—”

Then it hits me, and it's about as subtle as a Bludger to the head. The instant it curls into my nostrils, it's like I've been plunged into a hot bath. Or maybe a bed of nettles. The most noticeable thing, though, is the urgent, unmistakable _need._ There's a tug in my stomach, trying to pull me forwards. Pulling me towards Potter – or, more specifically, towards Potter's warm body, which suddenly looks like the finest thing I've ever seen.

I swallow heavily and look down at the potion spilled on the floor. I try to run through possibilities in my mind, but my head is swimming and I have no idea what it could be. Whatever it is, it works bloody fast. Every nerve ending is prickling with outrageous desire. I dig my nails into my palms, just to stop myself from lunging forwards and grinding my body against Potter's.

Potter's face is stricken now, gazing at the hazy yellow fumes coiling themselves lovingly around my legs. My skin is on fire, but more than that, there's the need to touch, to rub, to get some friction to my cock, which has swollen almost instantaneously to a ridiculous hardness and is doing its utmost to burst the seams of my trousers. I pull my collar away from my throat, trying to give myself some air. It's suddenly turned humid in the cupboard – I'm getting a compulsion to just rip my robes right off, to be honest, but I bat the thought away. Potter's expression is turning from worried to horrified. He's definitely got a whiff of whatever it is.

“What _is_ that stuff – _fuck!_ ”

He stops and closes his eyes, reaching out a hand to clutch at the shelves, as if he's dizzy and going to fall. I'm standing right over the spillage – in fact, some of it splashed on my robes – so he's probably getting a lesser dose than me, but he still looks pretty affected. His face is flushed, twisted. I can see sweat beading on his top lip, and I want nothing more than to lick it off. A little moan catches in his throat, and apparently, that's enough. Much more than enough. I'm on him, slamming him up against the shelves with my hands in his robes before he has time to catch his breath.

We're nose to nose, and oh, Merlin, he smells better than anything I've ever known. I actually want to lean in and take a massive greedy snort of his scent. This is insane; I can't go around sniffing Potter. I take a deep breath, no doubt getting another dose of the infernal potion fumes, and then I find it's actually not a big deal after all. Jamming my nose into his neck, I inhale a fervent lungful of him, and then all that's going through my mind is how soon I can get him naked.

Potter's struggling against me and it feels completely fantastic. I feel like I could wrestle a troll if it was standing in the way of me getting off, so one wriggling little saviour isn't going to cause me any trouble. I grab his hands and pin them to his sides, then press myself up tightly against the entire glorious length of his hot, firm body.

“Get... the... fuck.... off...” He's panting and fighting against me, trying to get free. But I can't help noticing that he's hard. Oh, yes. As a rock. Potter's delicious, fat erection is straining against my leg. And his 'struggling' involves quite a lot of pressure against said leg, and when he moves from side to side, just like... _uhhh... just like that_ , it brings his cock in line to rub across mine, and the _feel_ of it, the fucking feel of it, is almost too much, and I want to sob with gratitude.

“Yes, yes, oh hell, keep doing that.” I'm babbling, and he's fighting me... but between you and me, it's more like grinding. I whimper with delight and bury my face in his hair, which smells so incredible, I just might take a big bite of him.

“Stop it.” Potter thrashes his head from side to side and growls. “Stop it, _now._ ”

I lick along his throat and am almost surprised when my saliva doesn't sizzle as it touches him. He's burning up, fiery and dangerous. I want to fling myself on him and let him consume me in the blaze. I have to feel his skin against mine, right now.

I let go of his hands and fumble with his robes, wrenching them open. His shirt is easy enough to snatch up, my hands eagerly sliding beneath. His skin is... I've no words. It's sublime. I pull away for the second it takes to yank my own shirt up, and press against him even more closely, knocking jars and bundles of ingredients off the shelf behind him, not giving a toss, just needing flesh on flesh, _nownownownowNOW._

He claws at me with his hands, half-pushing, half-pulling, making little gasps as I run my hands greedily over the planes of his chest, the muscles of his back. Every touch from him, no matter how rough, feels amazing, sparks of sensation bursting inside me, and a divine, unstoppable sweetness building in my bollocks. I'm just about to cup his arse and pull him even closer, when he goes still for a second and then the bastard spits in my face.

Merlin, I hate him. It's cold, clammy and disgusting. I wipe it off with my sleeve, snarling at him in disbelief.

“You absolute shit, Potter.” I pull back and look at him, my chest heaving.

He's out of breath and his shirt is untucked, with the lowest buttons all pulled off. His hair is a total state, and his glasses are smeared and sweaty, and he looks a complete fucking utterly irresistible arsehole.

I want him so much. I have to― Just have to―

_Fuck._

“All right then, Potter.” My fists are clenched rigid with the desire to reach for him, but I make myself do this. “Off you go, then. I'm not stopping you.” Everything aches, everything hurts, with this monstrous need for Potter.

His face is a picture of confusion. His eyes dart down to the very obvious bulge in my trousers and I tilt my hips towards him. He makes a strangled sound.

“Go on, then.” I wave my hand in an attempt to be airy, but my fingers are twisted into a strange claw-like shape. “The door's that way. Bye.” Fuck, I can't hold on any more. My cock is in agony. It needs him. _I_ need him. What if he actually leaves?

His chest is rapidly rising and falling, but his feet aren't moving. As he breathes in, I see his nostrils flare and he flinches as if he just got another hit of the potion.

“You don't seem to be going anywhere, Potter.”

He takes one step, then stops, closes his eyes.

“Or maybe you want me to carry on.” My voice is hoarse with wanting. I step towards him again; there's no way I can wait another second to touch him. I palm his erection roughly, jabbing my own up against his hip.

He moans and rolls his hips, pressing himself into my touch. The heat of him, the shape of his cock through his clothes...

“Potter.” I put as much contempt as I can into it. I'm trying hard to ignore the part of me that wants to knock him to the floor and hump his leg like a dog.

His eyes are screwed shut, but he's moving against me, and one hand is snaking up my shirt. I want to just lose myself in the sensation, my whole body singing with the perfection that is Harry Potter, but I'm not letting this go. I hold his hips still and speak insistently into his ear.

“ _Potter._ ”

His eyes snap open and he glares at me. I can feel his heart pounding against my chest.

“OK, Malfoy. OK.” The words grind out from between his clenched teeth. “Just... just fucking do it.”

My hands have never moved so fast. I'm into his trousers and shoving mine down all at the same time. His cock springs free of his underwear, and it's so eager, and mouth-wateringly thick, too, that for a moment I think I'll come purely from the sight of it. But there's no place for any more waiting now, none at all. I wrap my hand around both of our pricks and begin jerking harshly up and down. Merlin. It's too rough and too dry and too fast and too much and it's just what I need, just... exactly... what I need.

His head falls back against the shelf, his mouth slack, eyes unfocused. His legs are trembling against mine, and I reach round and grab his backside, holding him up. My cock is almost too sensitive to touch, but I carry on wanking us both and stroking along the crack of his arse, searching through the material to feel the intense heat radiating from him. My thumb presses against his hole and then he's coming like the bloody Hogwarts Express. I laugh in triumph and two strokes later I am spilling onto his stomach, come splashing across his navel, over my fist, laughing and laughing and coming and coming.

I hold him tight as he shivers in my arms, his head resting against mine, the last pulse of his orgasm twitching against my palm. My skin is still hyper-sensitive as his eyelashes brush against my cheek, my heart thumping. I breathe out a soft sigh against his hair. He jerks violently, pushing me off, and pulling at his clothes to cover himself.

“You sick fuck, Malfoy.” He yanks his robes together, like a door slamming shut.

It feels like there's a draught, making my skin pucker with goose pimples. “Right, as if you weren't gagging for it.”

“As if I would lay a finger on you by choice.” His eyes are like stones. “It was just the potion. You― You disgust me.”

He turns and leaves, his face screwed up, back stiff with disdain.

I lean against the shelves, winded for a moment, then pull out my wand to clean myself. _How dare he want me less than I want him? How dare he?_ I put my clothes in order, trembling all over with anger and shame. I can still hear the sounds he made... smell the hot, sharp need on him.

I turn back to the shelves before the thought is even fully formed in my mind. Could there be...? I can't even remember where I picked the vial up from. I scan the different flasks, the jars of ingredients, something like panic flickering in my chest. Because this cannot – simply _cannot_ – be the last, the only time this will happen. It's inconceivable that I will never get to touch him again, that I will never again see his eyes black with want for me. And there it is, precious and golden, next to the syrup of Hellebore.

It's the last one, its label as blurred and illegible as the other. I try to steady the shaking of my hand, a laugh of horror bubbling up: imagine if I dropped this one, too? But slowly, with infinite care, I pluck it from the shelf and convey it to the safety of my pocket.

I have to have him as desperate and needy as I was, to make him long for me. Next time I'll fling the bloody stuff in his face and see how much he feels like resisting then. Maybe there's an antidote that I can take first, so it doesn't affect me. See how he likes quivering and aching for me while I tell _him_ how much he disgusts _me_. I might make him kneel, have him beg me for it.

I use my wand on the debris on the floor. The shelves don't look much better than when we started, in fact probably quite a bit worse, but it occurs to me that Slughorn's displeasure is possibly the least of my problems at the moment.

I smooth my hair, twitch my robes into place, breathe deeply until a kind of calm descends and I can stretch out a hand steadily without it betraying me. That size of container holds at least a jigger – maybe enough for two goes. I stroll out of the cupboard, a careful look of boredom on my face, my fingers sliding tenderly to caress the delightfully smooth glass of the vial in my pocket.


End file.
